


A King Is First A Man

by LyricalRiot



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriages (sort of), Attempted Murder, Babies, Blood and Violence, Breed Kink, Cheating, Consensual Sex, Did I Mention Angst?, Emotional Constipation, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Everyone Needs A Hug, Explicit Consent, F/M, Fictional settings, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracies, I am not a medieval scholar, Kings & Queens, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Long Time Span, M/M, Masquerade Ball, Mostly KYlo POV, Murder, Pregnancy, Romance, Sex, Slow Burn, So many babies, Sometimes Rey POV, Swords, Tags Contain Spoilers, That's just how I roll, There will be typos, a few years, all the babies, i'll say it again, medieval stuff - Freeform, swimming lessons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyricalRiot/pseuds/LyricalRiot
Summary: Prince Kylo Ren has been in the service of the cruel Emperor since he was a child, always fighting to be worthy of his own family legacy. And now, at last, he has earned his birthright: a kingdom to rule, a crown to wear. It isn't the kingdom he expected, but he intends to do his best anyway. Fate finally seems to be on his side — until he arrives to take his crown and discovers a lost princess from the desert has stolen half his kingdom already.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 36
Kudos: 132





	1. A Clash of Destinies

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here: the medieval AU that was promised!
> 
> 👑 A word regarding the tags — you may or may not want to read them, as they do contain some minor spoilers. Some things will happen in this story that you might not like, and I go into this expecting to get yelled at. If I have missed ANY tags, please, please let me know and I'll be happy to add them. I don't want anyone to get triggered, and I'm so sorry if I've missed one and you have to be the one who discovers it.
> 
> 👑 Also, the tag "cheating" is in there. I know this is a squick for many of us (including me.) Trust me to handle it in a way that you'll be okay with. And be assured that I'm never, ever going to write a story wherein Ben or Rey cheat on each other.
> 
> 👑 I'll also be posting a smut-less version for those who prefer that.
> 
> 👑 I'm planning on one or two chapters a week, depending. Half the story is already written, so I'll finish the other half as I'm posting the early chapters.
> 
> 👑 As always, comments are cherished and appreciated, even if I don't get around to replying to each one. They make my day and are a huge muse boost. Also, come say hi on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/little_womp_rat) and come yell at me some more about the story 🙈
> 
> Okay, I think that's all I wanted to say. Strap in and let's go on this ride.

“You were born to be a king.”

The voice of the Emperor was eroded into rough splinters of rotted wood, but the words carried unmistakable authority nonetheless. Each syllable dropped with the finality of a death sentence.

The young man before him, who called himself Kylo, looked up from where he’d kept his gaze firmly on the pooled robes around the Emperor’s feet. He didn’t dare give reply. When dancing with the cruel and cunning mind of the most powerful man in the world, it was prudent to be careful not to tread hastily. Kylo had learned this over the years, both by his own missteps and the mistakes of others who paid more dearly than he had.

Withered lines and deep wrinkles carved the ugly face of this man who held Kylo’s future in his hands. His expression remained as unreadable as ever.

Being summoned before the Emperor was rarely a good thing. The man — more monster than man, by his withering husk of a frame and cold yellow eyes — was more apt to dole out unspeakable punishments than he was to reward desirable behavior. And any orders had had usually came from his chancellor, Lord Snoke. So when the news came that Kylo’s presence was requested in the throne room, he noted the faintest flicker of trepidation within himself.

Perhaps, he told himself, he would merely serve in a personal protection capacity. He’d earned his way to the most coveted ranks of the Emperor’s own knights, and occasionally served his master as a personal guard when situations were likely to get particularly dangerous. Perhaps that was the case now. The Emperor had many enemies. His empire grew and grew every year through unrelenting conquest, and that process of violent subsumption naturally generated many enemies.

But when he arrived in the throne room, Kylo saw no one else there but the usual guard, Lord Snoke, and the old shell of a man.

Immediately, his dread mounted.

But these words, about being born to be a king — they threw him. He hadn’t expected that at all. The Emperor never referenced Kylo’s royal origins except to dangle the promise of some distant prize over his head. It sometimes preceded a rebuke, a punishment for not living up to expectations. But Kylo could not think of a recent instance where he had failed to fulfill either the Emperor or Lord Snoke’s commands.

“My boy,” croaked the Emperor. “You are your grandfather’s heir, without question.”

He was? Kylo dared not let that flicker of pride in his chest catch and grow any brighter. All his life he’d been clawing after that exact praise, and all his life they kept telling him how he was a disappointment, nothing like his grandfather at all. What had changed?

“Tell me, young Kylo, are you loyal to my Empire?”

He didn't spare even a beat of hesitation. “I am, your Imperial Majesty. My life is sworn to your service and the service of the Empire.”

“And when you ascend to your crown, the lands you reign will ever be vassals of this nation.”

This one wasn’t a question, but Kylo answered anyway. “Until the end of time.”

“Good.” The badly withered face of the warlord cracked into one of his weak, sickly smiles. “Then, my boy, it is time you receive your inheritance at last.”

Kylo’s breath stilled in his chest, all his senses grinding to a careful halt. He could hear everything, down to the faint wheezing in the chest of the Emperor and the subtle rustle of Lord Snoke’s gaudy golden robes.

Really? After more than fifteen years in the service of a man who jealously stole and possessed everything within his grasp, Kylo struggled to believe it. He _wanted_ to believe it, though. Oh, how much he waned to believe it. But why would the emperor just let him go now? Why, after all this time, all these waylaid promises, would he be given his kingdom now?

“Rise," the Emperor commanded.

Kylo did, one smooth movement carrying him from his knees to his feet. He hadn’t been a graceful child, but the merciless training of his youth had carved grace into him in bloody permanence. A dozen questions surfaced in his mind about the improbable pronouncement, but none of them passed his disciplined lips.

How was he to be the king of a destroyed kingdom? Would they rebuild? The Empire had the resources to do it, of course, but would they really spend them on Kylo’s behalf? And _why?_ Despite all this, however, Kylo couldn’t stop the tremor of anticipation deep within him. Without, he remained tranquil and composed. Within, he tightened in hope. The throne of his grandfather would be his at last. The kingdom, which should never have been lost in the first place except by the foolish decisions of his uncle, would finally be restored to its glory.

“You have proven yourself worthy of a kingdom, and so you shall be no more called a prince,” said Lord Snoke, his own twisted, war-torn face breaking into a grimacing smile.

Kylo had never actually been called _prince_ by either of these men. By others, yes, and he knew the commoners called him the _Prince of Blood_. But neither the Emperor or Lord Snoke called him by his title. They’d done well to strip him of that identity. It didn’t stop his pride from swelling now anyway.

“It will be the honor of my life to wear the crown of Alderaan,” he said, clenching his fists to stop the tremor in his fingers. Gods, it had been _so long_. Since the day the Emperor took him in and promised to make him a king, Kylo had been hungering for this moment.

For so many years it had been out of his reach — not only because of the destruction of Alderaan, but because he himself had not been worthy of it. How many times had he fallen short of what the grandson of Anakin Skywalker should be? How many times had he received the censure of his tutors and trainers, or endured a word of scorn from Lord Snoke? He’d begun to believe he would never be good enough to be a king. He wasn’t strong enough.

But he was wrong.

“Alderaan?” The Emperor’s mouth contorted into something that was maybe a sneer, or maybe amusement.“No, my boy. You will be the king of Coruscant Valley.”

Kylo blinked. The only reaction he allowed himself. “Coruscant? But the Crown Prince—“

“Is coming home.” The Emperor didn’t exactly sound pleased about it. Everyone knew he didn’t much care for his son and heir. It was why he’d sent the prince away in the first place. He feared patricide for the crown, as he had done to his own father. “It is time my son returned and prepared to take his place.”

“With all due respect, your Imperial Majesty,” Kylo said stiffly, and perhaps a little too boldly, “Any of your lords could hold that tiny kingdom.”

He didn’t have a relationship of bold words with the Emperor. No one did. Not even Snoke. Boldness got people thrown into vats of boiling tar, or held over flames until their insides cooked. Still, Kylo floundered for footing because one moment he was soaring and now he was crash-landing, wax wings melted.

Coruscant Valley was a tiny crescent of land, crammed between treacherous mountains infested with savage wild men, and a mostly cliff-riddled, violent sea. It sustained itself with farming and modest mariner trade from one central port, but it provided the Empire with little export. A few jewel mines, perhaps, but nothing to interest anyone with power. It wasn’t a profitable kingdom. In fact, Kylo had never understood why they bothered holding it at all. The Emperor had seized it some twenty years ago or less, probably because he learned about an unconquered corner of land within his reach. In that time, it had never been a place of interest to anyone. The Emperor sent his son to take it and rule it just to get him out of the way. Everyone knew that.

Lord Snoke scoffed. “You dare speak to his majesty in that insolent tone?”

The Emperor held up a craggy, crooked hand with yellow nails curling beyond his fingertips. “You have become a problem, young Kylo. I need you gone.”

Banishment. Not reward at all. Not a deserved prize for being good enough to inherit his crown. This was exile. Kylo’s mouth tasted bitter. What had he done wrong?

“You will have the Coruscant crown,” decreed the Emperor in his hollow, broken voice. “Accept your birthright to be a king, and complain not at the gift which I have given you.”

Kylo squared his shoulders and let his gaze fall to the floor, chastised. Deep within, he boiled with rage. Fortunately, they had given the tools to keep it contained — for now. The Emperor was right. Even a crown of a tiny kingdom was better than no crown at all. And if he couldn’t have Alderaan, he would at least have this.

It was something, anyway.

“I am humbled and grateful, your majesty,” he said.

“Use this as a chance to test your mettle. And one day, perhaps, Alderaan will rise again with her rightful king to rule her.”

That old carrot still being dangled. Kylo rather doubted that he would ever reach it now. But perhaps if he could find a way to turn Coruscant into something profitable for the Empire, he would prove his worth once and for all. He would show them the power in his family’s bloodline. They wouldn’t be able to deny him his true crown then.

“You will take a company of knights to help you hold it,” said Snoke. “A single company should suffice. Captain Phasma will accompany you. You are expected to leave at first at first light. It is a long journey.”

The Emperor lost interest in the proceedings once this instruction had been given. He flicked his fingers dismissively. "You may go and prepare for departure."

Kylo left with the distinct feeling that he was being chased away as quickly as possible. The huge yawning hall with its draped crimson banners and white sun sigil fell away behind him in favor of vast muted hallways, quiet flinching servants, and silent, statuesque guards. He felt disoriented, and annoyed, but there wasn’t time enough even to vent these emotions on some squire unlucky enough to come up against him in the training ring. If he was to leave in the morning, he needed to get ready. And he needed to speak to Captain Phasma.

✨✨✨

Rain lashed against the houses with vengeful fury, roaring winds whipping in the scent of a sea in turmoil. Salt and brine rode on that wind, even though the coast was a long ways off, stinging faces and weighting the air with heavy humidity. The river heaved, rocking the little boats so violently that water sloshed in the sides and soaked the feet of the black-clad passengers inside them.

The storm was good. It soaked every living being to the bone and drove all unnecessary activity inside. There were no guards along the river right now. It was too cold, too foggy, too stormy. And they were too complacent, too sure of their supremacy. Today, they would fall.

The boats docked along the spilling shore, whisper-soft footsteps squelching through the mud as the passengers disembarked and tied their vessels. They wore no armor, so the shadowy figures moved through the downpour in silence, their noises drowned out by the furious beating of the rain against the rooftops and structures of the city. The wraiths darted between buildings, concealed by mist pouring off a river warmer than the water falling into it, following the directions of one who signaled when they got close to a guarded building.

The knights bearing the sigils of the Empire stood miserable in the coastal squall. Rain poured from their helmets, soaking through their leather and fabric. They weren’t paying attention. It was a simple thing to sneak up on them, yank their heads back, and slide a knife right through the gaps between their helmets and gorgets. They went down with nary a cry, most of them.

Flickering in the dim interior candlelight from behind curtained or shuttered windows stood vases or dried sprigs of tansies. On the sides of buildings, little tansies had been painted. And on some doors, a single tansy flower had been nailed. These tiny symbols of rebellion spurred the secret assassins onward with hope.

✨✨✨

The Empire of Exegol & Mustafar was vast. It swallowed the whole continent, except for active fronts here and there from nations still attempting to resist the inevitable. There were big nations and small nations within the blanket of the Empire, but none of them were quite as big as the epicenter of the calamity, the kingdom of Exegol. Specifically, the capital city.

Kylo had spent hours wandering those choked streets, laid out in no orderly pattern. He had explored the dense warren of alleyways and industry, carrying out assassinations and arresting enemies of the crown. He had supervised festivals, not as an organizer but as an Eye for the Emperor, listening for any sign of disloyalty. He had grown up within the vast castle complex and among the commoners in the city.

And now he was going to leave it all.

Forever.

The thought settled with odd significance. It sat heavily in his stomach, like too much stew, but without the comfort. He ought to be eager to for this endowment — and he was. A crown was a crown. But to leave a place he had lived in for so long with the thought of never returning, it twisted him into a sense of unease.

He had done this once before.

Long ago. In murky memories.

He was not born in Exegol. He only came here when the world ended. When he wore a different name.

Pacing restlessly up and down the hallway connecting two spired branches of the castle, both sides opening though archways to the blue sky and city sprawling below, Kylo shut out his restlessness. It wouldn’t do him any good to be nostalgic for this place that wasn’t really his home anyway. He had given his life to the Emperor, and he would do as the Emperor demanded. It wasn’t his place to be annoyed at the undesirable post.

A kingdom was a kingdom.

Finally she arrived, arrayed in fine, bulky armor as only the soldiers of the Empire wore. She had her family sigil emblazoned on her chest, a roaring lion in white and black colors. She was a fierce thing, this captain with her long white-blond hair hanging in a braid down her back. Bigger than any other woman Kylo had ever known, she towered at his same height, well above most.

“Captain Phasma,” he said, giving her a nod.

She bent in a brief bow. “My prince. You’ve summoned me?”

“I assume you’ve been informed of the new post.” He knew Snoke would have sent word already. If they wanted Kylo out of here as soon as possible, they’d want his troops ready to move out too.

Phasma’s chin bobbed in curt affirmation. “We are ready to serve you, sire.”

“Good,” he said. He knew this woman better than most people here in Exegol. They’d trained together since they were both young. They were as close to friends as two people serving the Emperor could be. Which was to say, not very close, but at least they were sometimes honest with each other.

Perhaps that history of honesty prompted her to say, after a beat: “They say we’re going to Coruscant Valley.”

“That’s right.”

Her blue eyes, cool as ice, surveyed him with a shrewd, perceptive look. Her tone was careful. “Did His Majesty give a reason for such a…far flung assignment? One already occupied by the Crown Prince?”

Kylo looked out at the city again. Everyone was always careful with him. Even her. History or not, honesty or not, she had to guard her words. Because he was an Eye. An enforcer for the Emperor. Except, not really anymore. Not after tomorrow.

“The Crown Prince is returning. I’m being sent to replace him.”

“Ah.” She said. A moment, and then, “It’s quite an honor.”

They were both lying, and they both knew it. But this wasn’t the place to talk about it. Later, perhaps, they would. When they were away from listening ears, out in open fields, far from the Emperor’s murderous grasp. Then Kylo would tell her that they were getting rid of him, and maybe she’d have insights as to why. And they’d both acknowledge that her unit was the one chosen to accompany him because they’d worked with Kylo more than anyone else and perhaps that threw their loyalty into question too. None of this was possible to say right now, of course. Their roles were still too carefully defined. Their friendship, or perhaps more lukewarm alliance, was built on unspoken understandings like these.

“We will be ready to leave at first light,” she finally said.

“You know, of course, that I intend to make you my general,” Kylo replied coolly.

Phasma glanced at him. She shouldn’t be surprised, and he was gratified to see no such shock on her face. Only stern acceptance. She inclined her head.

“It will be an honor to serve you.”

Phasma was one of the finest knights in the Emperor’s service, and captain of one of the elite units. The soldiers now stationed in Coruscant, the ones not coming back with the Crown Prince, might have been away from the kingdoms too long to happily accept a new leader coming in to govern them. They’d been away almost twenty years. But it wouldn’t matter. They would obey their new general, or they’d be punished after the customs of Exegol. Kyo wouldn't want anyone else in charge of his armies.

They stood in silence for a while, just staring out at the city. He wondered if she felt even more reticent than he did to leave this place. Phasma had almost always lived in the capital. It was well and truly her home. Her father had held lands elsewhere in Exegol, which the rest of her family now ruled without her. If the rumors were true, when Phasma was a child, her father told her he’d marry her off to a rich man one day, so she killed him, left the estate to her mother and brothers, and showed up wanting to be a knight of the Empire. Phasma herself had never spoken of this, of course, but Kylo knew how she loved her post and how she loved the Empire. He wondered if she loved this city too.

Whatever their emotions right now, they didn’t speak of them.

“Coruscant will be lucky to have you as its king,” she said, her tone strictly formal again. “We shall all prosper there, I should think.”

And it was the right thing to say because Kylo finally felt the spark of eagerness and anticipation he’d been looking for since the throne room. A king. He would be a king.

With no smile, but satisfaction buried deep in his chest flaring to life anyway, he said, "Yes, I think we shall."

✨✨✨

They took the riverfront by day, and the entire southern half by night.

With most of the soldiers assassinated and their weapons appropriated and given to any who were willing, the citizens felt bold enough to venture into the storm, helping hands to join the killing shadows. They hastily tore down already dilapidated buildings or guard houses and erected barricades along the shore and the bridge, heaping stones and bricks in makeshift walls, wood and earth in makeshift berms. It was slow and slippery work through the booming tempest around them, but nobody complained.

“We should take the other side,” said Wexley, hand rubbing over his forehead, trying to swipe the rain from his eyes.

“No,” said their leader, the one who had heretofore been directing their clever takeover. She motioned to the flurry of activity around them. “We don’t have enough to hold it.”

“Do we know how many men he took with him?”

In answer, Poe, another of the black-clad assassins, ducked under the overhanging balcony from the tavern behind them, pulling back his hood and shaking a spray of water out of his soaked curly hair. “We don’t have their exact numbers. We know he left this morning, and we know he took some. But they’d be complete fools if they took all the troops.”

“Princess,” Wexley pressed, turning again to their leader. “Please, this is our one chance. If we don’t take it now, they’ll send someone else to rule in his stead, and then we’ll have a war on our hands.”

“I know that,” she said, her voice darkening. It was hard to talk above the rain. People shouted to each other as they made safe their half of the city. She didn't want to shout, so she moved in a little closer to the two men. “You don’t think I would like to have the whole of it, if I could? But the barracks on the other side are probably full, and we don’t have the manpower to take it tonight. There wasn’t much worth guarding over here, which was the whole point, remember? Even if we did try to take it, defending the whole of it against the people they will send will stretch us too thin. We have to hold this side, where we’re strong, and then, when the time is right and we have the advantage, we’ll take it.”

“But their numbers will grow too,” Wexley protested.

“I am aware.”

Poe shoved him, shooing him away with orders to go supervise the bridge barricade. When he was gone, he turned to their leader. “Don’t listen to him, Rey. Eh, sorry, Princess. It’s a good plan. We can hold this side. We’ll make it our own city once again. And when we’ve regrouped and rallied more soldiers, we’ll take the other side too.”

They were interrupted by a great deal of shouting breaking through the storm, and someone ran towards them. Like the others in her party, he too was dressed in all black and it was difficult to see him in the rain, without the benefit of torchlight, until he was almost upon them.

“Finn,” said Rey expectantly. “What news?”

“We’ve done it,” he said, grinning, breathless. “The castle is ours.”

She grinned too, mirroring him, pulling him in for a fierce hug. “Brilliantly done. Thank you.”

Poe gave a whoop of triumph and encircled them both in a hug of his own. The social barriers between them had been blurred and erased by all the secret meetings and surreptitious scheming that had defined their association until now. All that was likely to change soon. But for now, the three friends could still pretend they were only that — friends.

Until they broke apart and Poe gave Rey a wide smile, his voice rising with significance. “It’s time for you to go home, Princess.”

And the feeling of elation that swept over them was no small thing. Weeks ago, this whole plan had been nothing but madness and a foolish dash of hope. Nearly two decades in the making, perhaps, but madness nonetheless. When the Crown Prince of the Empire ruled, hope seemed almost squandered. It survived only in the exchanging of tansies. A silent message to the suffering populace that someday, their true queen would arrive and save them from the unyielding squeeze of oppression.

Now all that hidden hope had come into full glorious bloom. And their work wasn’t completely done yet. Nor would it be for some time. This was only half of the royal city, and with it, half the kingdom and its resources. Their triumph remained incomplete until they possessed the whole thing, undivided. But for tonight, it would be enough to have this much.

The castle was a fine old thing, build as much for beauty as for defense. The deluge and howling winds made it hard to take it in properly, all torches snuffed out in the gale, but it still loomed an impressive shadow in the dark. And Rey had spent many days curled up here in the market, disguised as a beggar, watching the comings and goings of the castle and trying to feel a spark of recognition.

Even now, she couldn’t feel it. They passed through the gates and finally escaped the rain, and nothing inside her said this was _home._ She didn’t remember it at all. But why should she? Babies didn’t retain long memories, and she hadn’t been here since being a baby herself. Still, she didn’t need to recognize it as her home to feel a sense of vindication and completion.

Finally, she had taken back what was stolen from her. And she had avenged her parents.

“The coronation plans begin tomorrow,” said Poe expeditiously as they moved into the grand hall and throne room. “You will be crowned before their replacement even arrives.”

She nodded, looking around at the large room with fine vaulted ceilings. Hideous red curtains and banners printed with the glaring sun of the Empire had been hung around the hall, ruining the natural beauty. But soon enough these would come down, replaced at last with the banners of Rey’s own house, her father’s house, and the redecorating would erase all ugly reminders of the dark time.

“Whoever they send,” said Finn with an ominous tone, “they won’t like what’s happened here.”

“It doesn’t matter. Let them dash themselves to pieces against our barricades. We won’t yield.” Rey glanced at her friends with a confident smirk. “Whatever they send, we’ll be ready to face it.”


	2. Theft of a Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kylo arrives to discover certain unpleasant truths.
> 
> **CW for this chapter: Violent, graphic descriptions of murder**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your incredible support! 🤩  
> Originally this chapter was going to be twice as long, but I've severed in it half for readability. Expect the second half in 2-3 days.

Coruscant Valley was so far away, the company of soldiers and the man who led them all felt as if they were riding to the ends of the earth. It took them several weeks on the road to get there. They moved more slowly than Kylo was used to, burdened with wagons carrying their trunks and belongings. It made him impatient. They offered a carriage for him, but he refused it. He’d traveled many hundreds of miles on horseback before, on various grim errands for the Emperor, and while he knew how uncomfortable it could be, his pride would not allow him to hide out in the comfort of a carriage.

They crossed through three of the Empire’s vassal kingdoms on their way, stopping at inns or public houses, or sometimes camping in open fields, until eventually all sign of civilization melted away just before the mountains.

And it was about this same time that they crossed paths with the Crown Prince’s company on the road. No words were exchanged. The company flew past without so much as a passing nod from their captain riding in front. A team of carriages rode snug between long lines of soldiers. The Crown Prince and his family, no doubt. They company was so much larger than Kylo’s, and it gave him a moment’s concern than the prince brought with him far more knights than Kylo could replace with his own.

He didn’t care that they did not greet him. Didn’t expect, it really. Perhaps in a different world, the two parties might have paused their respective journeys for a glass or two at the manor of some baron or lord while the prince relayed insights and information about the kingdom he’d just quit. But in the Empire of Exegol & Mustafar, such civilities did not exist. Every man for himself. Kylo would have to feel his way through, just as the Prince did. There would be no help.

Kylo didn’t really know the prince at all. He’d been around during those earliest days after Kylo been taken into the Emperor’s household, but he was so much older, already a man in his thirties, where Kylo was a tender boy of eight. And when he’d gone, Kylo didn’t even notice his absence. They had no relationship whatsoever, nothing to compel them to stop and hail one another.

So they didn’t. The passed like ships in the night, and then it was on to the mountains.

The road plunged into the heart of the treacherous range they called The Maw. Peaks jutted up above them like cracked, vicious teeth, as if some monstrous dragon had died here at the dawning of the earth and this, its skeletal jaw, remained. Kylo could see how it got its name. They spent over a week wandering dangerous mountain paths, some of them so steep and narrow, one false step could send horse and knight tumbling to their deaths.

No one lived in the mountains, except for rumors of a savage people, of which none in Kylo’s company ever saw sign.

Kylo had been out on the front before. He’d assisted the takeover of more than one kingdom. But he’d never been somewhere so inconveniently accessed as this little valley in all his life. Again, he wondered why the Emperor bothered trying to hold on to a place better left to the slow erosion of time. It would be difficult and costly to get armies through here. He wondered how it was done the first time, when they took the kingdom.

Vaguely, he wondered if this was what the Crown Prince felt too when he was sent here nearly two decades ago. This was truly and unmistakably banishment. If they survived the mountains, they would be utterly cut off from the rest of the State.

Still, Kylo and Phasma’s men were no country-raised militia. They were Knights of the Empire. Discipline ran thicker through them than blood. Neither Kylo, nor Phasma, nor any of their soldiers breathed a word of complaint. They flew their banners high and marched on relentlessly.

“You know _why_ he’s getting rid of you, don’t you?” Phasma asked one night, near the end of their slow march. They were an estimated two day’s ride away by that point, according to the map provided to them for the journey.

The two of them sat around their own fire, while the soldiers sat around another several yards away.

“He said I’ve become a danger,” said Kylo.

This was the first time they’d dared speak of it. At this point, though, there could be no doubt of their distance from _anyone_ who might report back to the Emperor.

Phasma picked at the roasted chicken leg in hand. They’d brought enough birds for the journey, but this was their last. Lean times were guaranteed until they arrived.

“You have,” she confirmed.

“I can’t imagine why. I only ever do what they tell me.”

“The people happen to like you,” she said, glancing up. “Not the common folk. They’re terrified, of course. But the courtiers. They like you better than the Crown Prince. There were rumors that they had begun to think _you_ should be the heir, instead of the man everyone was glad to be rid of. Obviously, the Emperor found that threatening.”

Kylo cut her a skeptical side glance. “How do you know about this? If there were rebellious seeds like that being sewn, I’d know about them.”

“No you wouldn’t,” she said firmly. “Everyone knows what you are, and how many you’ve reported for treason. It’s a marvel the court likes you at all, despite your constant danger to them. But they do. They are careful with how they say it, because they know that any hint, and you would drag them before the Emperor.”

“I’m not a threat to His Majesty,” Kylo muttered, a stab of resentment flaring in his breast. He’d bowed and scraped like a servant for eighteen _years_ , only to now be thought of as a threat?

“But consider,” she insisted. “You’re the prince of a beloved nation. Lost, maybe, but still beloved. You’re the heir to a powerful legacy. If people are starting to take notice, it isn’t so easy for the Emperor to hide you as his rabid dog anymore. You’re a nuisance to him. He needs to squirrel you away somewhere so far removed, everyone forgets you entirely.”

This information irritated him. Now that he had possible reasons for the banishment, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know them after all. The injustice of punishment when no failure or misdeed was committed — it rankled him. He frowned over the fire at her. “Why are you saying all this?”

Her icy eyes were level and cool as always. She cocked her head a little, expression shrewd. “Because you’re not his enforcer anymore. You’re a ruler in your own right — under the Empire’s banner, of course. And rulers deserve the truth.”

“The truth according to you.”

“Well, yes. I can only tell you what I have heard.”

He sighed, tossing his picked-clean bone into the fire. Hopefully the charring would deter any predators. “Will you always be honest with me, Phas?”

Her chin bobbed in a short nod. “Always, your highness.”

“Good.” He stood, stretched, disguising the wince at his painful hips and legs. Just a couple more days of riding, he told himself.

That night, he laid there staring up at the slice of starry sky cut between jagged peak and dense treelike, listening to wolves howl distantly. Their ghostly voices carried a kind of melancholy, and Kylo pondered it. He wanted to be king, even if was over this tiny, remote kingdom. But it galled him that his competence in his duty had driven the Emperor to shut him out so abruptly.

It didn’t matter, he decided. There was nothing to be done about it anyway. Coruscant was and always would be part of the Empire, just like everything else Palpatine touched. Kylo’s task was to make sure of it, and make the kingdom strong and integral to the larger whole.

Though he saw now that export would be more difficult than he imagined.

There was much to consider, and much to learn.

When at last, two days later, they finally broke free of the mountains, they were rewarded with a truly breathtaking view. The road curved sharply to begin its descent, brushing a wide, dramatic cliff ledge. It provided a vantage over the whole valley. Kylo paused their company and rode to the edge of this cliff, surveying his kingdom.

And it caught every protest and misgiving in his chest and dissolved them.

Dramatic cliffs sloped down into a golden valley, spotted with dense forests, verdant farmlands and orchards, sprawling villages and cities, all running merrily along until the sea. A thick vein of water fed down from the mountains in the east, cutting across the landscape like the lazy coils of a snake, all the way to the glittering ocean.

It was _beautiful_ here. Kylo forgot at once that this was the place of his exile, his soul suddenly expanding with satisfaction and pride. This was _good_ land, small but well balanced in its resources. There was clearly enough farmland to sustain them, enough timber, and enough trade from the sea. Oh yes, he could see so much potential in this idyllic little place.

And there, in the distance, he could see the royal city itself, spread out over both sides of the wide river, far bigger than any village or hamlet anywhere else in the valley. White-painted buildings gleamed in the sunlight like patches of snow in otherwise green fields. A large military structure on one side, a beautiful ornate structure on the other — some kind of church or cathedral, perhaps. 

Anticipation stirred within him.

To think, all the denizens of this place awaited _him._ Their new king. No doubt they wanted to know what sort of king had been sent to rule them. A kind of paternal benevolence stirred in his chest at this thought. He would take career of them. They would find in him, not the Prince of Blood, but a just and fair ruler. Together, they would all turn this valley into a jewel in the Empire’s crown. This wouldn’t be banishment at all, but a chance for glory. A chance to prove his worth in a place more beautiful than any he’d ever seen. Except, perhaps, for Alderaan — if his memories could be trusted.

Everyone would prosper under his reign. The citizens of Coruscant, and Kylo himself.

“General,” he said, turning to glance at Phasma, astride her destrier beside him. “What do you think of our new home?”

The open-mouthed jaws of her bronze lioness helmet largely obscured her face, but when she turned to him, he saw approval there anyway. She didn’t smile often, and he didn’t think she was smiling now, but her blue eyes blazed with some kind of light anyway.

“A fine place, sire,” she said. “I trust your predecessor left it in good condition for you.”

Kylo made a small hum in reply. He’d rather not think of his predecessor at the moment. The Crown Prince had done nothing for this little kingdom except keep it going as it had before. He hadn’t nourished it. Hadn’t helped it grow. But then, he’d always known this was only the place of his limbo. He was destined for the throne of the Empire, and much greater things than this little valley.

Not Kylo. Kylo preferred to think that nothing came before this moment. This was _his_ inheritance. His birthright. His crown — even if a crown by a different name. His kingdom. He would be here until he died, or until the Emperor saw fit to restore Alderraan. The Crown Prince had merely been a steward, tending it until Kylo earned his place through blood and broken bodies.

“The first order of business when we arrive,” he said, “will be to establish who is suited to their post and who needs to be replaced. There’s always deadwood to be cleared with any regime change.”

Phasma nodded. “Very good, my liege.”

“I will rely on your eyes and ears to help me identify potential enemies. And of course you’ll need to assess the size, strength, and competence of my armies. They are yours to command.”

“I will, Sire.” Then, with a pause, she added, “Though it doesn’t seem as if we will have much need for armies here.”

“No,” he acknowledged.

Any enemy invasion would be more or less impossible, with the terrible crossing of The Maw to dissuade them. They could come by sea, perhaps, but Kylo didn’t see the enticement. It wasn’t as if there was much here to excite any opportunistic armies.

All that suited him fine. The Empire could go on waging its wars on new kingdoms, always swelling, always expanding its borders until it overtook the whole earth, like a relentless fungus. Kylo didn’t need conquest anymore. He’d done enough killing to satisfy any hunger for it. What he needed now was a prosperous kingdom to rule.

A moment of silence passed between them as they surveyed the land once more. The anticipation in him grew like an ember under a gentle breeze, fanning into eager flames. With a tug at the reigns and a tap with his heels, he turned his horse and spurred the company down the road, impatient to get started.

♦️♦️♦️

They rode through the deep forest sprawling from the feet of the mountain, passing by the tiniest hamlet Kylo had ever seen — mostly just a scattering of crude houses within the darkness of the trees, a small stone towerhouse to protect them. He didn’t pause to ask who the ruler of the towerhouse was. He doubted such a place even had one. Maybe the structure just protected them. Maybe they’d sheltered in it when the Empire’s armies came through on their conquering march.

Eventually the forest gave way to those lovely farmlands he’d seen from above, and his heart swelled with pride again. This was a good land. A strong, fertile land.

They paused to rest their horses at a village more or less halfway to the city. The head man of the village came out to meet them. He wore the effects of a landed knight, properly regaled in the Empire’s red colors.

“You must be our new king,” he said, bowing deeply. “Your majesty, welcome to Coruscant.”

“And what is your name?” Kylo asked him, dismounting to the great protest of his body.

“I am Sir Bren Derlin, my liege. Come, let me procure you some drink and food while we water your horses. We have a fine cook here in our public house,” he said, motioning to a structure behind him. Some boys ran to care for the horses while the company followed the knight.

The inside of the place was empty. Kylo’s band of soldiers filled every seat, and still some had to wait outside. The owner scrambled to get everyone hot stew and mead.

Kylo, Phasma, and this Sir Derlin sat at a table of their own, and were served first. Kylo didn’t say much. Perhaps he ought to ask this knight about his village, or maybe about the kingdom in general, but he preferred to wait until he got a thorough briefing from his steward before learning about small-picture issues from local leaders.

Sir Derlin initiated the conversation anyway, his gaze darting nervously to Kylo and Phasma. “Your majesty, I just want you to know that we are loyal to the Empire here in my village. _You_ are our king.”

An odd thing to say. Kylo frowned and glanced over the rim of his stein at Phasma, who looked amused. He set down his drink with a nod. “I’m glad to hear it.”

The man still seemed nervous. “We do not recognize her claim. I — I’d like to assure you of that. No one here does. We stand with you.”

“Her claim?” Phasma asked, eyebrow lifting. “Whose claim?”

“The…the princess…” Derlin acted momentarily uncertain, and then, wincing, he realized, “You haven’t heard the news. That’s…unfortunate. I should not like to be the one to tell you.”

“What news?” Kylo’s attention sharpened like the razor edge of a sword, and he pushed aside his half-eaten bowl of stew to lean forward, catching the man in a fierce, demanding gaze. “What’s happened?”

Derlin cringed away from the intensity, fussing with his collar, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head. “On the night after His Majesty, your predecessor left, half the kingdom fell.”

_“Fell?”_

“To the heir of King Andor.”

Kylo perhaps should have endeavored to learn a little about the history of the kingdom he was sent to rule, but there hadn’t been time. He didn’t know the names of the kings before the Empire took over and sent the Crown Prince. Nevertheless, he could assume they were called Andor. And something hot and sick twisted inside him.

Phasma spoke first. “The _heir._ Do you mean for us to believe that they left the heir alive after the conquest?”

Derlin swallowed. “It — it was widely believed she died with her parents. She was just a baby at the time. Maybe a year old, or less. No one has seen her since the castle was sacked all those long years ago.”

Phasma leaned forward, her voice low and dangerous. “How then is she here now, in possession of half the kingdom?”

The man lifted his hands in innocence. “I do not know, I swear it! We are too far removed from the capital to know what goes on there. I only know that the kingdom is in chaos, split in two, and she holds the southern half. She has an army of her own. I — I thought you knew. I only wanted to troth you our pledge of loyalty, your majesty, that’s all. I didn’t mean—“

“Stop talking,” Kylo snapped, surging to his feet. Rage seared through him, white hot and too monstrous to contain. The table rattled, nearly upending from his abrupt movement. He shot Phasma a ferocious look and swept out of the pub without a word. She barked orders after him for the men to move out at once, meals finished or not.

Kylo went directly to his sweat-soaked horse and shooed away the boys attending to it.

The company rode hard the rest of the way. Too hard. Their mounts would all be blown by the time they arrived. Kylo didn’t care. No one got attached to things as replaceable as animals in Exegol. He had no attachment to this creature. His haste was more important than anything else because surely, _surely_ fate would not be so cruel to him.

He had to know if it was true. Had to know how it was possible that he’d come to be a king over a broken kingdom, challenged by some unknown rival intent on stealing what was _his._

A lost princess come to rescue the people. He might have laughed if the sickly rage were not burning away every other impulse like wildfire. This was the stuff of fairy tales, not real life. The people were idiots if they believed some nobody from nowhere was the daughter of their king and queen from before. Any charlatan could make that claim.

Regardless, if this incredible report were true, Kylo would crush her like the insignificant insect she undoubtedly was. He knew how to obliterate an enemy so effectively, no one would dare speak their name again for the mortal dread such a mention would evoke. She didn’t know who she had come up against.

 _If_ any of what that man said was true.

But first, he needed to get to his castle and his steward. If he even _had_ a castle. But the closer he got to the city, the less concerned about that question he became. It loomed there like a great shadow, flying the banners of the empire, a stout, utilitarian thing imposing its presence on the skyline.

Someone had sensibly wrapped the city in a curtain wall, though it looked dilapidated and derelict, and Kylo wondered if they’d had much use for it at all since the invasion. The gates to the wall were open, guarded by soldiers wearing the Empire’s colors. He flew past them, having no direction but the winding streets to guide him. He took the widest of these, making his way in the most obvious direction — towards that monstrous fortress.

The citizens of the city scrambled to get out of the way of the flowing river of horses and men. Kylo didn’t even give them a second glance. He didn’t care about making a regal entrance anymore. All his notions and plans and ambitions had been upturned, and he would not rest until they’d been righted again.

He would correct the situation quickly and mercilessly. He would establish himself early as the dominant power. No one would dare question him again after he stomped out this rebellion.

They were forced to stop at the castle gates. A high, impenetrable curtain wall with a tightly closed portcullis barred their way. That was reassuring, at least. No rebels would find their way in _there._ The guards opened them immediately when they saw the banners of the arriving company.

Kylo took a moment to glance around as the iron gate groaned in protest on the way up. A short field separated the castle from the nearest city structures. Atop one of those, sitting on a shingled roof, sat a very young girl, peering at him curiously. She looked filthy, and the way she jealously guarded her little loaf of bread suggested she would bite anyone who tried to take it. But her face was artless and curious and she met his gaze with wide, unblinking eyes.

The gates opened and Kylo rode on through. Someone somewhere blew a horn to signal his arrival. They crossed the empty expanse of the inner ward, to a second wall and a second portcullis. Again, Kylo’s anger flickered long enough to allow him approval and satisfaction at the defensiveness of this construction. Towers soared above him, at least four that he could see. Each flew an Imperial flag. Arrow slits ringed the towers in a spiral. The gates opened, and they passed beneath a disarming vestibule, murder hole above them, arrow slits to either side.

To be fair, it all seemed rather excessive for a kingdom which had never thought to face an invasion. They might have won, holed up in a place like this. Derlin said the Imperial army _sacked_ the castle, and Kylo could only wonder _how_. This place would outlast an extended siege, if the supplies were adequate.

Inside, in the enormous open courtyard of the bailey, they were met by a small company of people. Most looked to be servants, but there were a few in noble attire. Two stood out from the rest, one taller and older than the other. He had distinguished looking robes and a fine-cut beard.

When Kylo arrived and dismounted, he bowed low.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “We have awaited your arrival with great anticipation.”

Kylo’s mood could hardly be called magnanimous. “What is your name?” he asked coldly.

“I am Lord Pryde, Sire. I am your steward. And this,” he said, motioning to the red-headed man standing beside him, “is Lord Hux, your castellan.”

“Pryde,” Kylo repeated. His jaw rolled with repressed anger. “Why do I hear that I have lost half my kingdom before I have even begun?”

Pryde didn’t wince or grovel or wring his hands. He stood ramrod straight, expression disaffected. “A petty rebellion, your majesty. Without a ruler here, we were caught unprepared. They timed their strike well. But with the might of your hand, we will surely put them down again.”

“Without a _ruler_ here?” Kylo struggled to reign in his rage. He always had. It burned through him molten hot, and he needed to vent it. The pressure was unbearable. In his younger years, in training, he’d fly into a fit if ever he lost a sparring match. He killed many a spar partner in that wrath. He couldn’t take the humiliation. The sting of failure. And right now, without even knowing how he’d lost, he felt that failure again.

Someone would die.

Barely getting the words through his teeth, he leveled his anger on Pryde. “Were you not tasked, as steward, for the care of the kingdom in the absence of your king?”

“Sire,” Pryde said, finally frowning. He drew himself as if offended. “I have held the important part of the city and the Northern lands against these upstarts.”

Hux coughed, but turned away when both Kylo and Pryde glanced at him.

Pryde continued. “What happened in the south end is indeed regrettable, but the rebels struck during a terrible sea storm. When the Crown Prince left, he took many of our soldiers with him. We were outnumbered.”

Phasma, who had also dismounted and joined Kylo, made a scoffing sound. “Outnumbered by previously unknown _rebels?_ We passed the Prince, sir, and though he brought many with him, surely there were more than that stationed here.”

“The storm—“ Pryde began, but he never got to finish his sentence.

Kylo’s hand lashed out, driven forward by uncontrollable fury, and closed around the steward’s throat. Everyone around him, except for Phasma and his own men, flinch in terror. Kylo didn’t care. He didn’t worry about making a dramatic impression within the first five minutes of meeting them. He couldn’t come in here and slip easily into the role of their ruler as he’d intended. He would need to establish himself as the Prince of Blood first. Regrettable, but necessary. They would recognize him as the uncontested authority in the realm. It wasn’t too early to show them exactly what their new king was capable of.

His fingers squeezed Pryde’s throat, watching the man’s eyes widen and grow glassy. He tried to jerk out of Kylo’s grasp, but the new king anticipated him. He kicked out Pryde’s knees and drove him cruelly into a kneel, knocking the man’s hat off and grabbing his hair with his free hand to hold him fast.

Dark satisfaction curled in his chest to see the flush of color begin to bloom beneath the skin. He glanced up at Lord Hux, who watched with horror.

“And what is your assessment of the situation, castellan?”

Hux swallowed hard and snapped his attention from the man being relentlessly choked beneath Kylo’s hand to the king himself. “Your majesty, I — I counseled Lord Pryde on the potential consequences of the Prince’s departure before your arrival. I believed we should increase the watch around the city. The men weren’t at their posts like they should have been. They were all inside with the storm. The barracks are here, on this side of the river. There was no assistance when the rebels struck in the rain. And we haven't really held anything. The rebels haven't tried to cross over yet.”

Kylo’s grip tightened. He glanced down to check on the progress of his work. Pryde’s hand scrabbled uselessly at his arm, life wheezing out of him in whistle-thin rasps, diminishing into fainter and fainter utility by the second. The mottled red of his skin turned blue-purple, and his eyes bulged wider still.

“General,” Kylo said offhandedly.

Phasma regarded the event with disinterested coolness. “Yes, your majesty.”

“Remember what I said about finding the deadwood?"

"I do, sire. I believe you found it."

He glanced at her. "It looks as if we may have need of an army after all.”

“A bit of fun upon our arrival,” she said with amusement. “A chance to show your denizens what kind of stuff their king is made of.”

“That is my assessment as well.” Kylo agreed. Pryde’s body began to shake and convulse. Kylo’s hand ached. It was big enough for this task, but it always took so tediously long for a person to suffocate.

Pryde would pass out first, and if Kylo didn’t keep the pressure on, he might regain his breath eventually. There were things to do, a country to conquer, and Kylo’s patience receded like the tide. So he let go of Pryde’s hair, slipped his dagger from is belt and drew a line from ear to ear under the man’s jaw, just above where his own hand squeezed the throat.

With a gush and a gurgle, Kylo let him drop. The body slumped to the ground, copious blood flooding out of him to stain the cobblestones of the courtyard.

The king wiped his dagger clean on the hem of his shirt and sheathed it again, regarding the ruby smear now covering his own glove.

“Congratulations, Lord Hux. You are Steward of Coruscant now,” he said. “Now, I expect a thorough appraisal of the situation at once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Up:** Kylo meets his enemy face to face.
> 
> Also, I made a blueprint of Kylo's castle! Wanna see? It's a rather large image so I'll just give you the hyperlink: [Click Here](https://ibb.co/5F2c1TG)


	3. A Dance With A Viper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

A visibly shaken Hux stared down at the body of his former companion with a face that had gone white as a sheet. He swallowed and stepped back before the steadily spreading blood could touch his boots.

“It — it will be an honor to serve you, your majesty,” he said uneasily. “P—please allow me to escort you to the privy council room.”

Kylo nodded. “That would be wise. General Phasma will accompany me.”

Hux bowed in acknowledgement. Then turning to the other servants, he said quickly, “Take His Majesty’s horses to the stables right away. You lot, show the soldiers to the barracks and inform Captain Canady.” And to a third group he said grimly, “Clean up this mess out here. Send the body to his family.”

Good. Kylo appreciated the efficiency of this orders. Perhaps Hux would survive his post.

With these procedures underway, the new steward led them away from the scene of murder, up some steps through a bustling and busy middle bailey, through another raised gate, to the upper bailey where the central keep was nestled. The castle’s own bustling economy went on as industriously as ever, and it pleased Kylo to see that the denizens of his immediate domain did not seem affected by the knowledge that their country was in the midst of a great upheaval. There was still laundry to be done, fires to be tended, animals to mind, food to cook, and every other thing which daily life required.

The keep was quite an imposing structure, soaring higher than the curtain walls in a great monolith of stone. There were windows here and there, mostly overlooking the Bailey, but otherwise it remained a rigidly unyielding brick plopped down in the midst of everything else. Hux brought them through yet one more disarming chamber, and at this point Kylo began to wonder if the Crown Prince was rather paranoid to have such excessive defenses planned at every new stop. Finally they came at last to what Kylo assumed was the great hall.

It was suitably dramatic and grand, draped in the colors of the empire, tables set along the edges for feasting or assembly, a massive gilded throne set high upon the dais.

But Hux did not pause here. He kept walking, the crisp report of his steps echoing through the empty hall. Instead he took them through a side door near the back, across a short hallway, and into a smaller room containing a table carved with a map of Coruscant Valley over its surface. Only there did he stop and turn to them.

“This is the privy council chamber, your majesty. Forgive me for my haste — I will provide you a proper tour after, when you have received all the information you wish to know.”

Kylo looked at the map with curiosity. “A wise decision, Lord Hux. Now, explain to me exactly what happened, with as much detail as you know.”

Hux straightened his clothing and squared his shoulders. “Sire, the rebels are led by the daughter of Coruscant’s previous king, Cassian Andor. It was largely believed that she was killed when her parents were, during the conquering of Coruscant. But in recent years, rumors have begun to spread that she was not, in fact, dead, but had been squirreled away as a babe by a few loyal servants and taken to the desert beyond the Eastern mountains, to a wretched little outpost called Jakku. Apparently enough people believed this that a band of loyalists formed and began to plot. We don’t know how they communicated or organized. When His Majesty Crown Prince Maul heard of these rumors, he had anyone caught speaking of them put to death. Somehow, however, their secret rebellion persisted and the princess emerged from hiding, because on the very night the Prince left, they struck. They destroyed all the bridges across the river save for one, and that they have blockaded. They built rudimentary catapults and threw our own dead soldiers back at us.”

That made Kylo blink. The brief recount had only served to heighten his irritation until that last detail, which caught him entirely off guard. A desert-raised orphaned princess who threw the slain bodies of her enemies through the air? What kind of princess was she, anyway?

Hux pointed to the intricately carved map, drawing the great river in half with his finger and motioning to the southern half. “She has called her kingdom Takodana. She has enough soldiers to hold the river front. Our numbers are evenly matched, and I’m afraid the small infantry you brought with you will not be enough to tip the scales in our favor. We were hoping the Emperor would send a larger force.”

“The Emperor did not expect to have to deal with local incompetence,” Kylo seethed, that hot anger rolling through his gut again. He didn’t add that the Emperor didn’t want him to take any more soldiers, nor that even if Kylo asked for assistance now, he doubted he would get it. If he failed to hold his own kingdom, the Emperor wouldn’t care. This was not a place he valued anyway. Would he get possessive if this upstart princess stole this little valley from him? Perhaps, eventually. If he ever learned of it, anyway. In that case he might send a proper army with the next person he wanted to banish.

But Kylo wouldn’t get help. He knew that for certain.

“Where did she get her soldiers?” Phasma asked, drawing his thoughts back to the immediate present.

Hux shook his head. “We don’t know, general. Our guess is that they’re local hands who have been secretly training. For a long time, the southern regions of the kingdom have seen very little by way of recruiting into the Imperial army. The families supply their sons generously here in the north. It’s seen as a way to elevate their stations. But the people of the south have been…resistant. Perhaps they’ve been saving their sons for the queen’s army all along.”

“She isn’t a queen,” Kylo said coldly.

“Of course not, your majesty.” Hux bowed a little again. “She’s a pretender to the throne. However, I should warn you that she has only had her crown for two weeks and yet she has the ardent love of her people.”

“Naturally she does. She’s a fairy story come to life.” Kylo scoffed. “Everyone loves a good story. But they’ve no idea what she would be like as a ruler, nor what their fairy story will cost them when we come for them. Tell me, Lord Hux, what do I need to know of the resources the north supplies and the resources the south supplies.”

There launched a lengthy process of learning what he needed to know. Kylo had planned to ease into this one logical step at a time over the course of several initiatory days, but this disagreeable development forced him to swallow it all in one go. He learned that the northern regions had most of the farmlands, orchards, and lumber and supplied food to most of the country. The south had the sea and all its foreign trade, as the city of Crait had the only truly accessible port in an otherwise hostile coastline. The terms north and south were misleading, in fact, since the river divided the kingdom on a diagonal. A large, dense and tangled forested congested much of the eastern lands before the mountains. The wood of these trees provided poor lumber, and so it was not harvested the way the other forests were. From out that forest flowed the great river called Safyre. North-West of the Safyre lay all that Kylo was allowed to call Coruscant. And South of it, all that this nobody-queen called Takodana.

“They have poor farming available to them,” Hux explained, showing on the map. “A few good regions here and here, but most of the land becomes sandy and infertile as it runs towards the shore. There is decent grazing, and so they have some livestock breeding enterprises, but they still largely rely on us for food.”

“Well right there is a simple attack point,” Phasma remarked. “We cut them off.”

Kylo held up his hand to quiet her. “Strategy later, general. This is just for information purposes. Tell me, Lord Hux, where are the rebels posted now? From whence does she rule?”

“Her castle, your majesty.”

Kylo scoffed. “Two castles in one city?”

Hux explained that the Andor kings reigned from another castle on the other side of the river, but that when the Crown Prince arrived, he found the place disagreeable and indefensible, and had this mighty fortress constructed instead. It was built for might, intimidation, and protection.

“If she is in a poorly defended foxhole,” Phasma said with approval, “that makes our task easier.”

“Certainly it is not the stronghold that this is,” Hux agreed.

Kylo was pretty certain he’d heard enough for now. His curiosity was peaked, and like his general, he could feel the itch of needing to plan sneak in. The first phase of information gathering was complete. Now he needed the second half of the puzzle.

“Alright. This is what we shall do,” he said with a deep breath, rising out of the chair he’d taken while Hux explained the situation. “Lord Hux, you will send a message across the river requesting to parlay with this usurper.”

Hux balked. “You want to _meet_ with her?”

“Yes, I do.” Kylo needed to move. He paced back and forth before the table in thought.

“She will not come here, your majesty,” said Hux. “I know she will not.”

“No, I don’t expect she will. Which is why we are going to offer to come to her.”

That alarmed the new steward even more, who cast a wild glance to a neutral Phasma. “My — my liege, I cannot in good conscience recommend that. They control the city. There will be no protections for you there. Should they take you—“

“If they’re foolish enough to do so, the Empire will bring swift and terrible justice down upon this region and this princess and all her people will be sold for chattel around every corner of the empire.”

A lie, but delivered so convincingly that Hux visibly shuddered. “Shall I include that threat in the message, Sire?”

Kylo laughed mirthlessly. “No, Hux. I trust that they’re a little more intelligent than _that._ ”

“Sire, we’ve no guarantee she will even meet with you, and there’s absolutely no chance you’ll be able to negotiate her surrender—“

Phasma laughed a harsh, cruel kind of laugh, cutting him off. “Lord Hux, perhaps you missed the demonstration out there, but you seem to forget the fate of those who fail our king.”

Hux balked. “Eh…right. Majesty, I will send a letter immediately.”

“Good,” said Kylo. “When you have finished, you will find me in the Hall. I expect a proper introduction to my keep.”

The new steward bowed. “As you wish, your majesty.”

Kylo and Phasma left him there in the council room to scrawl out his message, making their way back as they’d come, ending up in the great hall once more. A few maids cleaned out fireplaces, but otherwise it was empty.

Kylo ascended the dais and observed his throne. Ornately carved, patterned in a wickedly sharp, angular design customary to Exegol. The upholstery was crimson, while the seat itself had some clever paint to make it look as if it were made from obsidian. It was excessively large, as far as thrones went. Much like the Emperor’s, it spiked high into the air like a black shard.

Phasma said nothing as Kylo observed the seat. Eventually, he turned and sat down, settling in with all the feigned confidence in the world. He’d never sat on a throne before — or at least, not one that belonged to him. Once, when he was a boy, he found himself in the Emperor’s throne room all by himself. He crept over to the huge thing and sat in it, wondering if this is what it would feel like when he was king of Alderaan.

But Snoke had caught him and whipped him within an inch of his life.

He never did it again.

But this throne belonged to him, and him alone. Nobody would whip him for sitting in it. Still, a phantom lash of pain ghosted over his skin as he relaxed against the back and surveyed the empty room.

“So your desire to meet the rebel princess…” Phasma said.

“First order of business in any assassination assignment,” Kylo explained. Phasma was a military leader. She directed troops of highly trained killers into battle. This made her a fine strategist, but she did not have the special skills that Kylo possessed, as a Knight of Ren and an Eye of the Emperor. His missions were of a highly precise kind. “Learn as much as you can about your target so you know the best time and place to strike.”

Phasma’s head bobbed. “So you want to see for yourself the conditions of things across the river.”

“And the manner of person who could carry out such an insurrection as quickly and efficiently as she did,” he agreed. “In the meantime, I’ll need you to take a survey of our forces and determine exactly how many we have, and where they are stationed.”

“I will, Majesty.” She gave a bow.

Hux returned then, decidedly less flustered. He reported that the message had been given to the Marshall with instructions to be sent with the fastest riders. In the meantime, he would show them around the keep and assemble the privy council so Kylo could begin to get acquainted with things.

Both were necessary, but Kylo itched with anticipation. He wanted to go immediately and meet the spider queen herself, to know what kind of mess she’d make when he squashed her under his heel.

♦️♦️♦️

The coronation happened only a few days after his arrival. It was an efficient affair — Kylo would not allow them to plan something elaborate. He didn’t care for excessive fanfare. The ceremony was quick. Afterwards he rode the streets in a triumphant processional while all the citizens waved Empire banners and cheered at him — though Kylo knew only half of them meant it. He could _feel_ the palpable tension in the air. Hux confirmed as much later when he acknowledged that the people of Coruscant were divided about the arrival of their new king. They feared the Empire, which inspired either loyalty or loathing. Those who loathed it secretly plotted against him, eager that the young lost princess should come be their queen too and dispatch all remaining vestiges of the Empire.

Kylo only had the order the deaths of a couple of the most vocal dissenters to quiet them.

After the processional, there was a ball in which Kyklo suffered through the myriad introductions his nobleman tried to make between the king and their eligible daughters.

And two days after, they rode across the bridge at the invitation of the Takodanian queen.

Kylo, proud on his black destrier and cloaked in a fine crimson robe was flanked by Hux and General Phasma, accompanied by a handful of soldiers. He wanted to strike the right tone between majestic and unthreatening. This was not going to be his opportunity to kill his rival. What he’d told Phasma was perfectly true. This meeting was meant only to gather information. He didn’t need an army at his back, just enough to signal his importance.

He knew he cut an impressive figure, up there on this horse, regal crown completing his royal ensemble. But nobody looked at him with awe when they crossed the bridge and guards wearing crudely re-painted Empire armor allowed them through the barricades.

And nobody looked at them with awe as they rode through the streets either. It didn’t make a very fine impression on the young king, this “kingdom” and its oddly quiet streets. People stopped going about their business and stood to watch, making no sound as they tracked the intruder king through their reclaimed city. Nobody shrank away. Nobody watched with fear. They glared and stayed utterly silent.

Occasionally, a dog barked or a chicken clucked, but otherwise the Coruscant entourage had the eerie experience of traveling through a mausoleum of hostile statues.

The message was clear: We Do Not Want You.

Kylo didn’t like that. But he could be patient. He would wait until he had control over this half of the city again, and then he would show them that he’d be a better ruler than they had ever known.

“No one from Coruscant has been here since the divide,” Hux explained in a low voice. “At least, no one official. Trade still happens, of course — unsanctioned and unsupervised.”

“That stops immediately,” Kylo told him. “We must punish those smuggling goods across the river immediately. They don’t get to declare their sovereignty and still benefit from our crops.”

“Yes, your majesty,” said Hux.

With a flicker of amusement, Kylo called out to some of the stoney-faced onlookers, “You needn’t fear me. I am not your enemy.”

_But I will be your king,_ he thought darkly.

When they arrived at the “castle” of Andor, Kylo understood immediately how the desert princess had managed to take it.

“It’s a palace,” he said dryly.

Not a castle at all. A half-height curtain wall, scalable by anyone with a modicum of skill, surrounded the palace as a vague gesture of defense. Beyond it, the sprawling keep itself, which was less a keep and more an elaborate, overgrown mansion with fanciful spires and domes. Not a stronghold at all.

“The Andor kings are marked in history by the long generations of peace,” said Hux. “They never found a need for a military fortress such as the Crown Prince built.”

“Until suddenly, they did,” Phasma remarked with amusement. “And by beauty they fell.”

Hux glanced at her, and then away again. “Yes. The Empire took it easily.”

“Why did the Crown Prince leave it standing?” Kylo wondered.

“He kept his wife in it.”

Phasma and Kylo both looked at him in surprise.

Hux cleared his throat. “He gave it to his wife and daughters for their home, and kept his sons with him in the fortress.”

Well…that was certainly one way to get his wife out of his hair, Kylo supposed. He’d heard enough men complain about them to assume wives were a hassle, but he didn’t really know. The Emperor had several of them. Many wives, and many more concubines. They all struck him as varying levels of tedious.

But sticking his wife in a separate palace seemed…wasteful. Economically wasteful. Why pay to run two whole households?

“The servants of the Imperial Princess flipped allegiances before the family was even gone,” Hux sighed. “They welcomed their new queen in with open arms.”

By this time, the soldiers at the gate had received permission, and finally opened it to allow them passage.

They rode into a small yard surrounded by high walls, a gate to the stables and a gate to the inner bailey. A man met them there, middle-aged, warm brown skin, a golden cape to accent his fine appearance.

“Welcome to Takodana,” he said grandly. “I am Lord Calrissian, steward of this castle.”

Phasma coughed conspicuously, and Kylo shared her same derision at this pretty estate being ambitiously called a _castle_.

They all dismounted. Several grooms came to take their horses to a trough to be watered. The steward observed the retinue of knights and frowned. He looked at Kylo expectantly.

“My prince, our queen has been awaiting your arrival. Your advisors may accompany you into the hall, but your soldiers must wait in the courtyard.”

“No doubt your men will far outnumber ny own,” Kylo said mildly. “I have only brought a token few, for my personal protection. They are no threat to your queen or anyone else.”

“It’s just a precaution,” said Calrissian with a smile that was somehow both friendly and frigid.

But Kylo wasn’t going to budge. “I won’t have my men waiting like pigs at the slaughter in your yard, to be butchered by weaponized farm boys. They will accompany me into the hall, or we simply forgo this meeting and return.”

Calrissian looked nonplussed. “Very well, follow me. I will petition her majesty for your men, but I cannot guarantee her answer.”

They followed the golden cape and the man wearing it through the gate, up a few steps, and into a lovely sprawling courtyard. Workshops lined the perimeter, a few invited merchants sold their wares to servants and courtiers alike, and tucked into a corner was a small garden and lovely little chapel. People bustled around as if it were any ordinary day, and not like their enemy had just come into their midst.

Up more steps and to the entrance of the grand hall they went. They paused while Calrissian went in ahead of them.

Hux fidgeted nervously, glancing around.

Kylo observed him with mild curiosity. “Have you been here before, Lord Hux?”

“Yes,” he said. “On errands from the Prince.”

“Do you know the staff?”

“I believe so. Or at least, I knew the staff under the direction of the Princess. If the queen hasn’t changed much by way of personnel, then yes, I know them.”

That could be useful, Kylo thought. Hux might be able to get them some information from the inside, if he had any friends left among the staff.

Calrissian appeared a moment later. “Her majesty has decided to be generous. Your men may accompany you.”

“How gracious,” Kylo said a little too dryly.

Phasma smirked.

Calrissian showed them on through into the hall.

It was a beautiful room. But then, any room in a palace built for beauty over protection would be beautiful. High carved pillars elevated the space, making room for large windows to allow light to spill across white stone floors. Blue banners hung from the walls, depicting a star enwreathed in white flame. On the dais sat a pair of ornate thrones, inlaid with both silver and gold. The filagree swirled along intricate floral and oceanic patterns.

Kylo appreciated the bright aesthetic. It was admittedly lovely in here.

Except for yet more hostile faces glaring at him.

It seemed that every member of the imposter queen’s fledgling court had turned up to see the new man sent by the Emperor. The all gave him their expressions of mistrust and hostility, as if that would scare him away. So tiresome. Kylo might have rolled his eyes if he weren’t made of sterner stuff.

He marched down the aisle between unfriendly faces, and stopped when Calrissian halted them.

And Kylo’s heart stuttered to a full stop in his chest.

Because the woman sitting there on the throne was…

Not what he expected.

“Your majesty, may I present Prince Kylo of Exegol, sent to our shores from the Emperor Palpatine to be King of Coruscant.” Calrissian bowed and turned to Kylo. “Prince, this is her majesty, Queen Rey of House Andor.”

Rey. That was the name they gave to this…this _girl_ sitting on the throne. She wasn’t the homely sun-scorched witch he’d imagined when they spoke of her. Firstly, she was astonishingly young. He’d known that, they mentioned that, but for some reason his mind had no adequately supplied what that might look like. She was fresh-faced and lovely, this girl of nineteen, with the gray-green of her eyes brilliantly drawn out by the green-and-gold brocade of her gown. Brown hair arranged regally up and off her long neck, holding aloft her golden crown.

She held herself proudly, and when she looked at him, a glint in her eye like two chips of silver embedded there, he knew instinctively that she was no naive child. He did not need to look too hard to find the general inside her, the leader who led a rabble crowd to victory over Imperial soldiers.

_Be careful of this one,_ some voice inside him warned. He couldn’t let her overwhelming beauty distract him from the threat she truly was.

She did not rise to greet him. Her gaze raked over him as his had done to her, and then with a demur smile and a smooth, lilting voice, she said, “Welcome to Coruscant Valley, King Kylo. Forgive my Lord Calrissian for his mistake. I see you have been crowned already. They didn’t waste any time with you, did they?”

As if granting him the title of _king_ were hers to magnanimously give. Kylo smiled a little. Subtle, but a power play nonetheless.

“I was never one for wasting time,” he said coolly.

“Hm, nor I,” she agreed. “I trust your journey from Exegol went without trouble. It’s such a _very_ long ways away.”

Kylo recognized when he’d been pulled into a deadly viper dance. He’d seen them done in the desert kingdom of Tattooine, sometimes to fatal result. And this girl on the throne here was perhaps not so different from those deadly snakes, getting in a quick bite here and there, so deftly done one might miss the sting.

“Not as far as you might think,” he offered smoothly. That reminder that he was a long ways away from help hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Have you ever had the pleasure of visiting the Imperial City?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve not had that _pleasure._ ”

Kylo hadn’t been in Coruscant a full week yet, but he’d become more or less familiar with the way people around him spoke. This Rey didn’t speak like that, really. Oh, she had the right accent, but there was something in the way she delivered her words that made him think she hadn’t spent a lot of time talking to people formally. I wondered how she found the role of queen, after living in banishment so long.

At any rate, he felt he’d at least returned one of her little barbs for one of his own, reminding her that _he_ was the judge of how far the Emperor’s arm could reach, not she.

“I have been to every corner of the Empire,” he said, “And I’m not sure I’ve ever found one quite so charming as this fair valley.”

She drummed her fingers on the arm of her throne — the only sign of impatience he could detect in her otherwise composed demeanor. “I’m glad to hear it. Those of us whose roots are buried deep in the land like to believe it is the best spot on earth.” She glanced at his companions and nodded at them. “And these friends you’ve brought with you…?”

“Lord Armitage Hux, my steward,” said Kylo, motioning. “And General Phasma.”

“Your general? I didn’t think it would come to blows quite so quickly.” The corner of her mouth twitched into the smallest of smiles.

“Not quite _this_ quickly, no. But I thought it best she observe the size of the challenge before us.”

The queen looked at Phasma with a single raised brow. “I hope you’ll find us a truly formidable challenge.”

Phasma said nothing, but inclined her head a little in acknowledgement.

At last Rey stood, smoothing the bodice of her dress, drawing and releasing a little sigh. “Very well. I believe we have things to discuss. Leave your general with your men. Bring your steward if you like. Rose?”

A woman stepped out of the row of courtiers and followed as the queen moved away from her throne, flowing towards a doorway off to the right. Kylo and Hux followed. For Kylo’s part, he was intrigued. She probably knew as well as he did that nothing between the two nations would be solved today, yet she preferred to have the conversation away from the pressing eyes of her court.

The woman Rey had called _Rose_ shut the door behind them.

Rey motioned for Kylo to join her, and so he did, walking beside her as their two companions fell back a few steps. He was trying to calculate the advantage of this little manuever, getting him alone like this. What was the point of it? Was she trying to humanize herself so he wouldn’t kill her? He still would, lamentable as it would be to rob the world of a face so pretty as hers.

They walked down a hallway filled with pictures of regally dressed busts. A gallery of sorts, he guessed.

“I know why you’re here,” Rey said after a minute. She kept her gaze trained ahead, gait slowing to a conversational meander.

“I should hope so,” he said with some amusement. “Can you imagine my disappointment if I found my adversary to be a fool?”

She glanced at him. “Are we adversaries already?”

“Aren’t we?”

Her lips twitched into the briefest of smiles. Kylo found it altogether distracting. “I’m afraid we must be. You can’t have it, you know. My kingdom.”

“I didn’t expect it to be so easy as asking.”

“Why did the Emperor choose to send you?” She gave him a shrewd look then. “And why does he care so much about this little piece of the world?”

Kylo smirked. “Because it’s within his grasp, and he can.”

She motioned to the pictures around them. “This march of faces you see are all my forefathers and foremothers. The kings and queens of Coruscant, going back nine generations.”

There were more pictures here than nine kings and queens. They must include portraits of the family. “I’m surprised the Princess left them up,” he quipped.

“The staff hid them during the invasion. They didn’t want the pictures destroyed.” She paused before one, looking up at the face of a man with dark hair, a dark beard, and dark eyes, swathed in robes of blue. She didn’t look anything like him. “I’m grateful to them for saving these.”

Palpatine truly hadn’t cared about the conquest of this kingdom at all, Kylo mused. He didn’t have an Eye stationed here to root out these nascent seeds of rebellion, planted even before the invasion was complete. Of course they were ripe for a storied princess coming out of nowhere. They were ready for it from the beginning,

“I have heard that your roots do not go as deep into this soil as you pretend,” he remarked. “That before your nine generations, there lived another people here. Your forefathers conquered them just as we conquered you, and drove them into the mountains.”

Rey frowned. “That is hardly my point.”

“Your point as going to be something along the lines of duty, of taking back what your father lost through his foolishness and the complacency of his ancestors.”

Ah, there it was. A break in the cool, collected civility. She threw him a heated, petulant look, her hands clenching into fists. “I have taken back a portion of what was stolen from us, and I will have the rest.”

“Unfortunately, my darling, you won’t.” Kylo very much liked her fighting spirit anyway. And he liked seeing the cracks in her queenly facade. It really was too bad she had to die.

Oh, she didn’t like that pet name. The way she bristled, like a cat stroked the wrong way. It amused Kylo to see her emotions coming through so plainly. “Bold of you to use terms of endearment to a _queen_ , Kylo,” she sneered.

“Am I not a king? That either sets us on equal footing, or, since you are self-proclaimed rebel here, that makes me your superior.”

She turned fully to him and, in a flash, caught the edge of his doublet in her fingers and jerked him towards her sharply. “You are _not_ my superior, imperial cur.”

Well. This was…quite close. Kylo glanced down at her fingers curled into his fabric, mouth twisting in a smirk. Not very queen-like or ladylike, losing control of her temper like that. Her blazing gray-green eyes flickered with hesitation as they bounced from his own eyes to his lips and then down to her hand, as if realizing their sudden proximity. She let go abruptly and stepped back.

“So it’s to be war, then?”

Kylo’s smile lingered. “I think it’s inevitable.”

“You would slaughter half the kingdom to win your prize?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No.”

He chuckled. “Then you’ll cede to me, and no blood will be shed. You’ll have saved your people.”

She recovered some of her level-headedness, cocking her head and giving him this shrewd smirk. “Wishful thinking. The other option is that you stay on your side of the river, and I stay on mine, and no one dies.”

He lifted an eyebrow, fingers twitching with the urge to touch her again somehow. “Could you live with that? Allowing me to rule half your father’s kingdom?”

“No.” Her face closed off with finality. “Could you? Live with me ruling half of what the Emperor told you was yours?”

“No,” he agreed. And here Kylo stepped toward a single step, regaining the closeness she’d severed when she retreated. Bold as brass and utterly improper, but irresistible anyway, he lifted his hand to graze her chin, tilting it towards him with the lightest touch. He smiled again, looking into her stormy eyes and finding a wicked streak of rebellion there. “The thing you must know about me, my lovely desert flower, is that I was born to be a king. And I will not share power.”

She jerked out of his grasp and stepped away from him, but Kylo didn’t miss the subtle tine of color in her cheeks. Rey stormed back towards her companion and Hux, tossing a glare over her shoulder.

“You have chosen war,” she told him. “On your head be it.”

_Yes,_ thought Kylo with delight. _On my head be it._


End file.
